Seven lives
by StillHaddicted
Summary: With Cuddy's relationship with Lucas getting stronger, things don't look too good for House. Everybody, and everything, is against him: but he will some unexpected help. Season 6, with a bit of Luddy, but nothing to be afraid of
1. Monday

_There a lot of stories I wrote about House over the years. Some of them are long, some are short and some, like this, came out of the blue because of a silly thought. We have seen House interact with animals on the show, and between dogs and cats, I felt he had a better feeling with the second ones._

_This story will only have 7 short parts: I hope you'll be around for all of them._

* * *

MONDAY

Monday. The worst day of the week.

Yes, technically any following day could have been worse, but he couldn't know for sure. All he knew was that waking up every Monday morning, to think that was only the first day of the week didn't really help. Monday was, with no doubt, the day he hated the most in the week. Along with Thursday, because that was the day he had to catch up on the clinic duty hours he had skipped, not to be trapped on Friday.

That was why he lived for that moment. Park his car in the private parking of the building, walk across the small and silent garden and get inside the warm hall, enjoying the contrast with the noisy hallways of the hospital. But that Monday, that was the mother of all bad Mondays. Mainly because of the patient diagnosed with an incurable disease; because of the boy who had puked on him in the clinic; because of the thunderous rain that had caught him off guard and with no umbrella. Moreover, the bucolic picture of Cuddy having lunch with Lucas and Rachel in the cafeteria, which had stomached him enough to abandon his food.

He repressed the tangle in his stomach at that thought, along with the sharp twinge of pain in his right leg. Two reactions he couldn't hold back when it came to the Addams's family. That was another reason for him to hate Mondays; each one of them reminded him of a new week of the nightmare he was living in after he had tried, every weekend, to kick that curse out of his mind in any possible, and legal, way. Huffing, mad at himself for having let his brain take that painful path, House shook his head. He rested his weight on the cane, trying to balance his steps on the wet ground of the garden. Last thing he wanted, was to put the cherry on top of that horrible Monday slipping and hurting himself. Careful, he stepped in front of the door and searched his pockets for the keys, sinking his head in the collar of his coat as the rain kept pouring down his face and neck, making him shiver. Finally, he found the keys and opened the door with a sigh of relief. The hot air welcomed him, but as soon as he lifted the right foot, a big black rolling object came running from outside behind him. The object hit his left ankle, depriving him of the necessary support. House lost the balance and his right hand let go off his cane, desperately trying to grab something and steady himself. He failed, his hand waved in the air but found nothing, his right foot slipped on the wet floor and the left one lost the grip. A second after, he crashed down hitting the ground with the left side of his body.

It hurt, his head and haunch above all, but better them than his right leg. He was expecting that pain, unlike the one coming unexpectedly when something sharp sunk in his right buttock, then in between his shoulder blades. Surprised, House suffocated a growl of pain in his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting back the pain, thinking that was definitely the worst Monday ever, then opened his eyes.

Black, grey with a hint of yellow. It was all his eyes could catch of the thing more or less at arm length from him. Then he blinked a couple of times, fighting back a stab of pain in his sore head, and focused on the image of a cat sitting on the tiled floor. It seemed a big one, but it was hard to tell because the fur was soaked and pressed on the body. Yet the tail was almost dry, and if the rest was half as vaporous, he had been just knocked out by a huge ball of fur.

Dealing with his own pain and frustration, along with a raising rage, House carefully tried to stand up, the slowest he could to prevent his upcoming headache to explode all of sudden. Grinding his teeth, he looked over at the cat, who was still there staring at him as if he had nothing else to do. Then, to House's major surprise, the animal moved some steps toward him leaving a trace of wet footprints on the ground. It must had been something in his eyes, that mix of grey and yellow he thought just cats had in their eyes, but House found himself hypnotized.

The feline reached him, his wet and rugged nose inches away from his one. Locking his eyes with the animal, House gulped and with the corner of his eye saw his cane resting on the floor. He moved his hand toward it, slowly, hoping the cat found his face interesting enough for him time to grab the cane and slam it on his head. As soon as his right hand found the cane, he wedged it around the wooden handle and found himself holding his breath. The smell of wet fur, and God knew what else, coming from the animal attacked his nostrils. His human eyes were engaged in a silent staring contest with the smallest ones of the cat, his mind already picturing him hitting the beast and have his revenge. But Monday's curse wasn't over. He had barely the time to think about his move, that the cat opened his mouth showing him an impressive set of small but sharp teeth, his eyes assuming that unique terrifying shape cat's eyes gain when they really want to threaten someone. The animal blew a stinking puff of his wild breath right in his face, the wet fur on his back arched along his spine, and the small and sharp nails that had already tasted his flesh spring out of the paws. He didn't really meow, but just hit House's face with his "scented" breath. With a mix of surprise and disgust, and with a hint of fear, the doctor had to close his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again the cat was gone.

Puzzled, he looked around in the desert hall, where there was nothing else but him. Knelt on the ground, with his hand froze around his cane and increasing pain in several parts of his body, a vague smell of wet animal and sewer still in the air.


	2. Tuesday

TUESDAY

Monday would have always been the worst day of the week, but Tuesday came close. And not just for a matter of temporal proximity.

Despite a night of sleep, strictly spent lying on his right side to ease the pressure on the left and hurting one, and a long hot bath in the morning, with Wilson barging at the door of the bathroom, he had felt the pain pulsing inside him the whole day. Along with the disgusting sensation of wearing a mask made of sewer residues, because of the fetid smell of the cat's breath on his face.

Until lunchtime, he had been teased with a possible case of primary amoebic meningoencephalitis, but it had turned out to be nothing that fascinating. Moreover, other than the soreness never leaving him, it looked like that was going to be "having lunch with my boyfriend" week for Cuddy. Once again she had been there, playing the little happy family in the cafeteria. This time he hadn't abandoned his lunch, but he had taken it with him, shamelessly hiding in his office with Wilson, where he had pretended to be starving and not at all in pain. Because had he showed his friend the pain, then he would have been forced to explain him where it came from. And the last thing House wanted, was to reveal to the oncologist the not so gratifying story of the cat knocking him down.

Because if had told Wilson, the oncologist would have tried to prevent him from getting his revenge.

That Tuesday evening he parked the car, grunting for the rain pouring again. Then before stepping out of the vehicle, House darted the dark garden with his searching eyes. He slipped his cane inside the backpack and took the long umbrella from the passenger seat, then got out of the car and limped through the garden, the keys already in his left hand. He took his time to walk across the garden, leaning on the umbrella for support, his ears tensed to catch every sound, ignoring any possible noise that could have distracted him. Slowly, he made his way to the door, he snuck the keys in the lock and froze when he heard it, the muffled sound of small non-human feet on the steps of the entrance.

And he grinned evilly.

Leaving the keys inside the lock, House pulled his hand away and turned on his right, looking down until his eyes found the same wet ball of fur that had attempted to his life the day before. The cat was looking up at him, interested and clearly impatient, impassable as animals can be when they're trying to make you understand eventually they'll have their way in the end. Man and cat stared at each other, careless of the rain washing them partly because they were both already soaked but mainly because none of them wanted to lose that contest. Studying the animal, still as a statue at his feet, House remembered something he had read on "The jungle book", about animals being unable to sustain human's gaze for a long time. And thinking it was a load of crap, when he realized he had looked at the cat more than what he had done with his last patient, achieving nothing.

Rain didn't bother him, not that night, not knowing he could take the elevator, get a hot bath and change into dry clothes to sooth the wetness. More likely, the cat would have needed hours to get his thick fur dried, and would have been still stinky no matter what. Assumed, but not given, he could find a warm and dry place where to refuge. Still locking his eyes with the feline's ones, House fought back a grin. There were tons of places and holes where such a small creäture could hide, but he knew for sure where he wouldn't have found a shelter that night.

Slowly, he opened the door slightly pushed it, allowing the light coming from inside the hall to create a sharp line on the steps. For the first time since he had arrived, the cat's eyes left him, they quickly glanced at the light expanding the pupils, but still didn't move. House sighed and pushed the door open a little more, then gave his back to the cat to show the animal he wasn't interested.

Which was a big and shameless lie the cat became aware of when it was too late.

After a quick look to check on the cat for the last time, House quickly pushed the little spring button on the handle of the umbrella. The runner slid quickly on the tube, and the rib exploded open with a muffled thud right in front of the cat's snout, revealing to his translucent eyes the image of the giant barking dog printed on the cap. Like a bullet, the cat splashed away as if the ground under his pawns was smoking hot, howling and meowing as if he had been hurt.

And House was invaded by a sense of gratification, knowing more likely the fright had wounded the cat more than how much a real beat could have done.


	3. Wednesday

_Every day is a battle._

* * *

WEDNESDAY

He was sure of it, on Wednesday things would have gone better.

Because three was supposed to be the magic number. Because Wednesday meant half of the week and a pleasant turnaround, a step closer to the weekend. Moreover, Wednesday meant grilled meat in the cafeteria, which had surely contributed to keep Cuddy and all her annoying appendices away from there, finally giving him the chance to swallow down his lunch without risking food to come back because of the disgust.

That had been a plus in his day, along with the cool diagnosis of fatal familial insomnia he had delivered. Well, not so exciting for the patient…but still, what else was left for him? He was 51, he lived with Wilson and the woman of his dreams, literally, was in a relationship with another man. And he was constantly divided between looking at her every time he could, and stay away from her, especially when she was alone. As sad as it might sound, an intriguing medical challenge seemed to be the best he could count on to get something good in his life.

Smiling bitterly to himself House got off the car, his eyes squeezing a little for the intense light of the brightening dusk of spring. A weak huff of warm air anticipating summer hit his collarbone, forcing him to zip up his jacket. Swirling the cane in his hand he stepped away from the car and headed to the garden, walking past flowers and plants that were still releasing the last drips of rain of the earlier days. Just when he got in front of the door and took the keys out of his pocket, he realized something was missing. Or someone…well no, something was the right word, because indeed for what he had seen so far of that animal, a ball of wet fur and nothing more, "thing" was really the only name that came to his mind.

But once he had realized the missing animal, he quickly became aware he didn't miss him. Instead he was glad, because it meant he had managed to restore the right power roles between humans and animals, and at least that part of his universe was going in the right direction again. Smiling to himself, trying to remember if there was a beer he could have used to celebrate in the fridge, House opened the door and stepped inside the lobby.

And his smile faded.

Right there in front of him, like two days before, the cat was sitting on the tiled floor staring up at him. It honestly took him a moment and a couple of blinks to recognize the animal, because unlike the previous days his fur was not soaked in water, bud instead the black pelt was now puffy and fluffy, vaporous and soft. He wouldn't have pushed himself to say it was clean, but he admitted he was curios to feel how it felt under his hands.

Maybe just a moment before clenching them around that small neck, which was now tilted on one side in a clear challenging expression.

House grinned at the cat but decided to ignore him. That was the first not so bad day of his week, and he was not willing to let anything ruin it for him, and he stepped forward heading to the mailboxes. He took one-step, and caught a movement with the corner of his eyes and froze, then quickly turned to his left and saw the cat stopping abruptly along with him. He stared down at the animal, he tried to convince himself he hadn't really see him moving along with him, but when he took another couple of steps the animal moved again and stopped right when he stopped too. Just to make sure, House repeated the move a couple of times and it happened again. The cat moved and stopped as he did, and after a while, he had to be glad no one was around to witness their ridiculous dance.

House shrugged and regained control of himself, ignoring the cat he took the last steps toward the mailboxes, and when he spotted the envelope poking out of their box and stood in front of that, the cat jumped on top of the boxes. House had to watch him, he had been truly impressed by the jump but now the cat was sitting on his back paws on top of the mailboxes, once again daring him with his animal's eyes. Determined not to let him screw with him again, truly convinced pretend he didn't care would have been the final proof of his superiority, House dived his hand in the pocket of his jacket and took the keys to open the box. But as he stretched his hand toward the envelope, a small and quick black object flashed in front of his eyes, the sharp and sudden pain in his right hand telling him it was a cat's paw, and the three thin red lines appearing on his skin confirmed he had been painfully scratched.

Instinctively, he covered the right hand with the left one as he tried again to pick the mails, and again the cat hit him leaving a new series of scratches on his left hand too. House growled softly for the pain and looked at his hands, both marked with sharp lines of blood and he bit at his bottom lip, than looked up. The cat was now lying on top of the mailboxes, lazily dangling his tail in slow and hypnotic movements. And House would have sworn the way that little mouth was slightly open, was the animal version of a human mocking and sadistic grin.

That was why he couldn't resist, and smirked back. And his smile resisted on his lips, even when he tried again to pick the mails and again the black paw waved in the air, looking for his hand. But this time House was quicker, the cat missed the hit but to avoid the danger House failed to grab the paper. He tried again, and before he knew it he was engaged in a speed battle with the cat, his hands fighting against the paws to conquer what were probably no more than gas bills and some advertisements.

Then, before he knew it, the cat straightened up and looked at him, suddenly bored, and House had to ask himself who had played with whom until that moment. Tentatively, keeping his eyes on the animal while they were face to face, for the last time he moved his hand toward the paper and for the last time the cat tried to get him. He did it, leaving fresh traces of his nails on his right hand. Yet his last hit was not so convinced, almost lazy, as if he had enough of entertaining that human being, but still kept staring at House who slowly retrieved the mail.

Puzzled, House brought his right hand to his mouth and sucked to get rid of the blood, looking at the cat who tilted his head on one side giving him a "now what?" look, to which House didn't know what to answer. Then, quick as his paws were, the cat's tongue poke out of his mouth and he yawned. He seemed more annoyed than anything else, then rolled on his side and laid there on top of the mailboxes, his eyes slowly closing as House heard him start to purr like an engine.

"Well?" House said all of sudden, the cat opened his eyes and looked quickly at him, who showed him his wounded hands. "That's all you can do?"

The cat sustained his gaze for a while, trying to figure out what that the tall man wanted, but all he did was a loud hiss right in House's face. Something that made him smile, because then the animal rolled on his back and House came to know something more about his furred opponent.

She was a brave and fearless fighter.


	4. Thursday

THURSDAY

Screwed up.

That was how he felt, how he was on so many levels.

Work, to name one. He hadn't been able to catch up on his clinic hours as he had planned, because they've had a new patient. A huge case, that had kept him and his team busy the entire day, preventing him from doing something he already knew he would have been condemned to take care later. At least, the case was a challenge. Too bad by the end of the day they had found out the woman had a rare complication of liver cancer, and she had switched from being his patient to be another dying person on Wilson's list. He wasn't used to think in terms of "worst something ever", but sure that week was being awful, with two diagnosed but unsalvageable patients in a row, Lucas always around with Cuddy and a fighting cat after him.

The end of the day wasn't promising to be any better either. After he had passed his patient to Wilson, he had been in his office packing his stuff, ready to go home. While there, House had spotted Lucas and Cuddy talking in the hallway of the fourth floor. They were doing nothing but that, still he had felt a familiar twinge of disgust in his stomach, wondering why the lover boy couldn't get a real job and be somewhere else. He had stuck random things in his backpack, and after the lonely drive home, he had found himself locked out of his apartment. Running away from the unpleasant view in the hallway, House had left his key somewhere on his desk, in his office, and he was now forced to wait for Wilson to come back home.

Something that could have taken a long time, given the fact the oncologist had a new patient to take care of. That was how he had found himself sitting on the ground, with his back on the closed door, waiting. And absently scratching the signs on his hands, thinking he might have underestimated the seriousness of those wounds and deciding he would have given them a better look as soon as he would have been inside.

He looked down at his hands, the thin lines were still there but at least it didn't look like he had been assaulted by Freddy Krueger, however the nuisance those little wounds gave him was impressive. It took him a while, to realize he was not alone anymore. He was too busy studying the scratches, his mind listing all the possible diseases cat's scratches could cause, to notice the cat sitting on her back paws in front of the elevator. She made no sound at all for a while, studying him, but eventually the simple power of her gaze caught his attention.

In the bright light of the hallway, House noticed how dark her fur was. He have had some hints the day before, but now that they were not engaged in a battle he took his time to study the animal. The fur was dark and fascinating, a solid deep dark black with no shades or nuances and it covered every inch of her body, and he saw the vaporous tail she was moving slowly while staring at him. Of course she was, wasn't that what she had done more or less every time? Still sitting on the ground, House locked his eyes with the animal trying to figure out if her eyes where grey with a hint of yellow or the other way around. As if she was reading his mind and wanted to give him a chance to solve the mystery, the cat seemed to shrug and then stepped toward him, swinging her hips at every steps until she was close, sitting next his feet. Sustaining her gaze, House straightened his back, bent his legs, resting his arms on his knees, then nodded at the animal and huffed.

"What's up lady?" He asked, lingering mockingly on the last word.

The cat tilted her head on the right, then once she was sure he had spoken to her, she just yawned lazily.

"Well, sorry to bother you," he muttered in between his teeth, then dived his hand in his pocket and took out his cell phone.

Not that he was looking for something in particular, he also knew to call Wilson wouldn't have helped to have him come home sooner. If anything, a call might end up distracting him and prologue his staying at the hospital, so he just lazily surfed the menu. It was Wilson's gift for Christmas, and however small that item seemed capable of doing anything but coffee, and he hated that useless technology show off when all he needed was to make a phone call… House almost dropped the super phone on the floor, when a black moving object appeared in front of his face. His hands fumbled with the phone but he managed to hold it, and once he had recovered from the fright, his eyes almost popped out of his head. In the deepest silence, the cat had moved closer to him and had snuck under his arms, now poking from the space between his legs and waist and looking up at him in that fearless way she have had since from the beginning.

Honestly taken aback by the sudden and unexpected proximity, the first thing House noticed was the smell. There was no trace left of the disgusting "eau de sewer" he had sensed the first time, he doubted the radical change was due to the dry fur, and his mind quickly tried to decipher the signals his nose caught. While staring at the cat's caring eyes he felt invaded by that unnerving feeling, there was something familiar in that smell but he couldn't tell what, and it was frustrating. Then the cat rescued him in her way, she blinked and lost eye contact with him turning her head to look at the scratches on his right hand, then came back to him.

"What, you forgot?" House asked sarcastic. "Well, it's your fault, in case you're wondering."

Again, like she didn't really care at all but was just keeping an eye on the situation, the cat looked at her own artwork on his skin. He should have been surprised, but truth was in the last days that animal had caught him off guard so many times that even being surprised was a surprise. House hadn't see it coming, he would have never expected that, the way the cat nestled in between his legs and stuck his little rough tongue out of her mouth, brushing it on the scratches her own nails had caused. As if he wasn't enough shocked already, House froze when his ears caught the purring sounds coming from her as she brushed the top of her head on the palm of his hand, wondering what the fuck his hand was doing when it moved on its own caressing the animal. But he soon forgot his shock. He had to when he felt the soft fur under his fingertips, the way it seemed to caress his callous hand and not the other way around. Giving the last push to his amazement, House smiled when she sat on the ground nestling on lap, quietly vibrating as her eyes seemed to have and hard time to stay open.

Mesmerized, House carefully put the phone on the ground and slowly brought both hands to the cat. She didn't even wince when he started to caress her, roaming her body lost in the combined soft and ticklish sensation her fur gave him. She stole him another smile when she rested her head on his palm and rolled on her side, abandoning herself to his touch and making him realize that was the first time they were not fighting or screwing with each other. Her body was warm and comfy, it must have been the same for her because she seemed to be at ease sitting on him, and House honestly enjoyed the mutual feeling they seemed to be sharing in that moment.

And when she stood up abruptly and ran away, he was extremely disappointed. House only had to time to catch the quick flick or her ears and she was gone, and just when the elevator door opened and Wilson stepped in the hallway he became completely aware of what had just happened.

"If you want me to give you a dollar, you should at least play the guitar for me," the oncologist huffed as he spotted House sitting on the ground.

Grinning, House stood up slowly using his cane as support, then looked at his friend's tired face.

"She didn't make it?" He asked, and his friend just shook his head sadly.

"She's already beyond the treatment stage," he said. "She has two months, more or less."

Not knowing what to say, with a pang of guilt pumping inside him, House just nodded at him and stretched his hand toward him when Wilson showed him his keys.

"How did you forget them?" He asked, curios.

Wilson knew House's attention for detail, he had never been the kind of man to forget where his keys were. Then the oncologist read on his friend's face the same sad and silent explanations that in the last weeks was the same for almost every non-House thing he did, and just handled him the keys.

"What happened to your hands?"

House shrugged, but instinctively hid his hands in his pockets, worried Wilson might understand where those hands had just been.

"Is that stupid cat," he muttered. "She took me as her own scratching post. "

"What cat?" Wilson asked as he opened the door and they stepped inside the loft.

"The black cat her own owner seems to find annoying, since she's always around on her own," he grunted again. "She's been around everywhere in the building since the beginning of this week."

"House," Wilson huffed leaving him on the door. "I'm tired, I just told a woman she'll miss her kid's 10th birthday…no one in this building has a cat, for all I know animals are not even allowed. And frankly, I don't care."

He really didn't. As soon as they reached the living room, House saw his friend slam the briefcase on the couch and head to his bedroom, leaving him thinking that evening he would have been a lonely drinker. Then, almost sensing something was on, he turned back and saw the cat sitting on the open door, looking at him in the usual way.

"You little intruder," he whispered.

And God helped him, he could swear the cat winked teasingly at him before running away.


	5. Friday

_Just to reassure those who thought House is hallucinating…_

* * *

FRIDAY

He had never realized how many things he owned, not until that Friday afternoon, dedicated to unpack the stuff he had moved from his apartment to the loft.

There were many reasons why he hadn't done that yet, first one being his extreme laziness. Of course, according to Dr. Nolan he was indulging on the moving because he didn't want to make it permanent… Not exactly a hard guess after all, House was well aware he was taking his time with that. As long as his stuff were still packed in the brown boxes, a part of his mind could feel free to think, eventually, he would have gone back to his place.

It was a lie. Since from when he had left Mayfield his whole life had been about moving on, stepping forward and not back. It worked some time, but for other aspects it was a challenge, every day, and he knew he couldn't win them all.

That was part of the reason he had decided to take care of his stuff, sneaking out of work saying he was not feeling well. Taking some of his med books out of the boxes, House sighed and shook his head, wondering why he still wasted time and money with Dr. Nolan. He didn't need him to understand what affected him, the underneath meaning of his actions and reaction.

_You don't need him to understand,_ his voice explained him. _You just need someone to tell you right in your face._

True. Every time he went to see Nolan, he felt like the witch in front of the mirror in Snow White; unable to prevent the reflecting item to tell the truth, no matter what. House knew that was the reason he still paid his weekly visit back to Mayfield. Oh, Nolan would have laughed so hard at him in that moment! He was standing in the middle of his bedroom, surrounded by open boxes, clothes and bags as if he had just thrown a bomb inside the room. When he had packed his stuff, he had thought that was a hard job; but to take things out and settle them in the new environment, giving them a reason, a purpose, was even more challenging.

Those weren't just random things, those objects were his life. The last 20 years or so, and he couldn't tell if still having them should have made him feel bad or good. Truth was, in those days objects were all he could rely on. Wilson was out of town visiting his brother until Saturday afternoon, therefore he was alone. House had no problem admitting he missed his friend because, oh boy, that was exactly the kind of day he would have needed him. He hadn't lied when he had told Foreman his leg was bothering him, and that he needed to go home. He had left his older fellow with the task to inform Cuddy, knowing his request wouldn't have surprised anybody. House was sure Cuddy wouldn't have opposed any resistance to his request. In the last weeks, they've pretty much ignored each other, for their own reasons. Talking straight to each other had become nothing more than a mere formality, a stretch none of them wanted to deal with, unless it was necessary.

And that Friday it hadn't been. He hadn't wanted to face her, of all days that would have been the worst ever to talk with her. Rumours, more likely it was nothing but that, still… Rumours usually start for a reason, even the most stupid and random ones come from somewhere, like stupid spoilers over TV shows. And just like them, even the smallest and uncertain hint about upcoming events could ruin your day. Or worse.

What he had heard had caused him to go home earlier, to run away from the hospital and seek for a way to ease his turmoil by arranging things from his past. Since he had no control over his future, all he could was trying to give a proper shape to his present life; handing his personal belongings seemed the best way to cope with the rumours about Lucas proposing to Cuddy. That had been the trigger for the pain. It had started in his leg, 10 minutes after he had caught something from a couple of nurses chatting in the cafeteria. All he had heard had been the words Lucas, Cuddy and marriage, and despite trying to convince himself those were just three random pieces of a puzzle, the pain had spread like a wave. The idea had soon started to grow inside him, like a curse, like a painful cancer taking over his body.

That was the main reason he was acting like an inexpert maid, looking for the right spot for his dusty lacrosse trophy. The idea of Cuddy getting married had filled his mind with images he could only associate to nightmares, and his stomach with nausea. He couldn't stand it, he had tried to convince himself it was just a rumour. Maybe the nurses were just speculating over something that had never been said…but his brain had gone wild, providing him with images of Cuddy and Lucas walking down the aisle, followed by Rachel dressed like a sugar-coated almond, clumsily trotting behind them.

Dust and old stuff were his way to get away from that. Once he had gotten home, House had realized there was nothing he could do to stop that train of horrors. Music hadn't worked, the one he had been able to produce, with his mind and heart filled with that scenario, had been the worst he had ever played. Sleeping was out of question, since it would have led him to awful nightmares. In the end, finding the right place for his belongings had seemed to him the most challenging way to keep his mind busy, in a harmless way.

Then it happened; he knew eventually he would have found it, but he wasn't ready for that. Fishing in the boxes he finally found it, his old and worn-out endocrinology book, the only one he had saved from his university days. Holding the crumbled book he sat on the bed, absently browsing the pages turned yellow because of the time, until he found it. Page 342, Kallman syndrome. Disease and syndrome pages had always been his favourite in med books, but since Kallman was a lame one, he had other reason to like that page. He used to take notes during classes, straight on the books; it helped him fix things in his memory, and find them while studying. However, that page, filled with written stuff, had no notes at all. Half of the space was taken by his sclerotic handwriting, while a gentle and feminine one softened the other half. An entire silent conversation with his charming desk buddy, reported on paper in front of his eyes. Stupid things, the ones he and Cuddy had written to each other, insults and jokes mostly, but sincere, natural-

As soon as he felt the lump forming in his throat, House slammed the book closed and tossed it on the bed. He wished he could be strong enough to get rid of that painful souvenir, but he knew he would have never been able to do that, no matter how hurt he could be. He didn't want to forget that, those days, but he didn't want to think about the future either. Huffing out his frustration, House stood up and rub his face with one hand then headed to the kitchen, glad Wilson had bought some beer before leaving. For a moment, House thought about giving up and watch TV. He glanced at his watch and sighed, desperate when he realized he was more or less the time he used to be home after work. Too soon, 24 hours to go before Wilson would have come back. One entire day before he could send his friend spying all over the hospital, looking for information-

All of sudden, House lifted his head. At first, he just stared blankly in front of himself, then frowned and looked suspiciously toward the main hallway. Holding the bottle of beer in his left hand, he picked up his cane and limped to the door with quick steps. House stopped abruptly in front of it, offering his right ear to the door, trying to catch something. Then he frowned again and smirked, swinging the door open all of sudden.

That cat's little furred ass must really love the tiles of the floor, because no matter what she was always sitting there.

This time House showed no surprise. It was indeed strange enough for the cat to be there when he usually came back home, not to mention how creepy it was he had sensed her presence… But truth was he didn't care. Truth was, he had not so secretly hoped for her to show up.

The cat was staring at him in her unique way, challenging and asking, waiting for him to make the next move. House looked down at her for a while, he leant on the door jamb with his shoulder and folded his arms, for the first time thinking she might had been there for a more noble reason than just annoy him. Then he wiggled and eyebrow to her, there was no need to talk because they had their own way of communicate, and he stepped back creating a space between him and the open door.

The cat gave him one last look, then stood on her paws and made her triumphal entry in the loft, strolling like a queen.


	6. Saturday

_I have to say I am surprised by the reception of this story. I had fun writing it, it's good to see it's getting people involved. Bear with me for a couple of more days_

* * *

SATURDAY

"No, no I can't wait…of course it's important!" Wilson yelled on the phone, then became aware of the loud tone of his voice and bit at his bottom lip, trying to calm down. "Would you please try to follow me, Mrs? If it weren't important, I would wait... No, no! I'm not mocking you...listen," he realized he was almost whispering and closed the door of his bedroom, leaving just a small space to keep an eye on House. "Can you please just tell Dr. Nolan it's about Gregory House, and it's urgent?" He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, while the stubborn and annoying woman on the other side of the phone repeated his few instructions. "Yes, I'll wait for you to report the message."

He did, he could do nothing else, hoping Nolan would quickly react to the "House" and "urgent" part of the message. The oncologist found himself nodding and slightly shaking his head, absently following the music on the phone, then he moved to the door and looked at House. He could see him, stretched on the orange sofa with his legs up, the black cat comfortably seated on his lap. The same animal the oncologist had found hissing at him, coming back from his short trip.

The TV was on, but House had lost any interest in it since when the cat had nestled in his lap. Instead, his friend was absently caressing the animal, staring mesmerized at the way the cat let him touching her. He knew he shouldn't have been that bothered after all, not yet at least, but since from when he had come back home and found out they had a new roommate, he had been shocked by House's interaction with the animal. At first, he had been relieved, knowing the cat House had been talking about was a real one. Since from when House had mentioned the animal, the oncologist had wondered about the actual existence of the creature, but he was still puzzled about the rest. Not that he had never seen House with an animal, or could think he had something against those creatures. Damn, hadn't he adopted a rat once? Still-

He had come back that same morning, earlier than what he had planned since his visits to his brother hadn't gone well. As he had stepped inside the door, his foot had sunk in the water bowl near the door. Then the scratching post, where he had tripped. Then the cat, hissing right in his face when he had crashed on the ground, scaring the hell out of him. He had yelled, and House had poked his head from the end of the hallway, absently warning him not to scare the animal.

Wilson kept his eyes on House, barely aware he was humming the song coming from the phone, frowning when the cat stirred on House's lap and brushed her head on his chest. She was purring so loud he could hear from there, but what struck him the most was the way House was looking down at her, smiling, enjoying her proximity as if they were cuddling each other. Hidden in his bedroom, the oncologist gulped nervous, feeling as if he was invading their privacy. Maybe he was, somehow, given the attentions House was devoting to her. A quick look around the loft made him think the cat had more furniture than the two of them together, and it looked like House had spent more time and money on the animal than on his own room, despite the fact he had finally decided to set his belongings on the new environment. Scratching post, litter, bowls, plastic mice, food...apparently, either House knew exactly what a cat needed, or he had just burgled the pet shop.

That unexpected display of extreme caring had been the first hint, and when Wilson had seen how House and the cat were lost in each other's company, he had tossed his doubts aside.

"_Dr. Nolan."_

_Thank God!_ Wilson thought looking up at the ceiling with a long sigh of relief.

"Dr. Nolan, its Dr. Wilson."

"_Yes, kind of get that from the "Dr. Wilson, urgent" note my secretary gave me during my meeting,"_ the man huffed on the phone, annoyed. _"What's going on?"_

Wilson opened his mouth, words on the edge of his lips ready to be spoken, but stopped all of sudden... Yes, what was going on there? House had a cat, big deal! Was it really necessary to call his shrink for that? It wasn't like he had done something wrong after all, and all of sudden the oncologist questioned himself over his actions.

"I," he coughed shyly and brushed the back of his head with one hand. "I'm not sure but...we have a cat."

"_You're not sure you have a cat,"_ Nolan questioned him, and Wilson caught a light glimpse of mocking in his voice. _"Or you're not sure you should have called me for this?"_

"House has a cat," he tried to clarify, hoping in that way his statement could make more sense. "I came back today and I found him with this animal. He mentioned something about a cat a couple of days ago, at first he said they basically fought each other-"

"_And you thought it wasn't a real cat?"_

"I don't know. I just didn't pay attention...that's not the point Dr. Nolan-"

"_Then what is it?"_ He asked on the phone _"What's the problem?"_

"I don't know, I guess it's just...the way he acts," he took a deep breath and shrugged, 10 minutes ago his idea had seemed much smarter. "He's always with that cat, he keeps cuddling and touching her all the time...they just," he stopped for a moment, quickly looking at House and the animal in the living room. "They just stare at each other, she follows him everywhere-"

"_He is taking care of her?"_

"Taking care doesn't really apply to what he's doing," Wilson stated closing the door, the way House and the cat were looking at each other giving him creepy shivers. "He bought stuff for her, he keeps checking the bowl and he doesn't want me to get close. Not that I want to, that cat hates me!" He added, confident the only reason why he had no scratches somewhere was that he had carefully kept himself away from her. "I'm sorry Dr. Nolan, I know this might sound stupid but-"

"_Dr. Wilson, you've known House for years,"_ he gently cut him off. _"I guess no one better than you can tell if he's acting strange. That said," _the shrink paused for a moment giving Wilson time to digest his words. _"From what you say this is a good thing. As you said, he's taking care of someone...not only that, he had welcomed someone in his private space, and we both know acceptance is not House's forte."_

"It's just a cat, Dr. Nolan. I don't think it's-"

"_It's something he apparently needs,"_ Nolan said, confident. _"You told me he had some confrontations with this cat, he wanted to push her away. Now he lets her in, in every sense, despite she hurt him...might as well give it a chance."_

While listening and pondering about Nolan's words, Wilson went back spying on House and his furred companion, still engaged in that silent and intense staring contest. For a moment it reminded him of something he used to see quite often, not so long ago...

"_Don't worry about this, let him explore it,"_ Nolan said again, then paused for a moment. _"How did he name her?"_

"I don't know. He's so…jealous about her."

"_Will you let me know when you find out?"_

"Uhm, sure," Wilson answered, then frowned puzzled. "You…you think there might be some meaning in whatever name he picks?"

"_No,"_ Nolan answered quickly, with a cheerful voice. _"I'm just curious to see how someone like House would name a pet."_


	7. Sunday

_So this one comes to an end. Thanks everybody for the reviews, I didn't expect this little story to be so well received; I hope I will see you on the next one._

* * *

SUNDAY

He hated been called in for emergency. He had made his job about diagnostic to avoid emergencies, still sometimes he found himself forced to leave the comfortable "nothing" of his private life and rush back into work. And he hated that even more when it happened on Sundays and days off.

Exactly what had happened that very same Sunday. Some "stuntman" of doctor had thought he was facing a rare case of Lyme disease, and thinking he was doing him a favour had called the famous Dr. House to confirm his intuition. Too bad he was wrong, and the only think that had prevented House from strangle him, had been the fact his hands were busy. The right one holding the cat travel box, and the left one carefully keeping his coat on the cage to hide the animal. Who at least, thank God, seemed to have sensed the need to keep her little trap shut.

Finally free, House had the chance to let the moron doctor wonder about his career choice, and carefully head toward the elevators, looking around suspiciously. The so-called "emergency" call had caught him on his way out; the cat hadn't felt well the night before and he had looked for the closest vet. He was on his way there when the phone had rung, screwing his plans. Once inside the elevator, he lifted the cage up to his face and took a quick look inside. He immediately spotted the two yellow arrows of her eyes, and the pink flash of her tongue darting out of her mouth, he nodded reassuringly and put the cage down sighing relieved. All he needed was get to his office, without being bothered. He wanted to pick up a vet books he kept in his office, and call the veterinary to make sure his appointment was still on.

The elevator dropped him on the fourth floor, House poked his head in the hallway then stepped outside and headed straight to his office. Luckily, there was nobody around. It wasn't the first time he brought animals inside the hospital, but he doubted he would have had an easy way out that time too. As soon as he stepped in his office, House placed the cage on the desk. Keeping the lights off he started to browse the books on the low shelf in front of the window, but had to stop when his pager went off. Rolling his eyes, wondering if there was a radar dedicated to track him down every time he stepped inside the hospital, House checked the number and saw the call came from the clinic. Huffing, he picked up the phone but then put it back. Chances were it was something stupid, might as well get rid of it soon in person...or, to better say, to scare the hell out of whoever was trying to ruin his Sunday.

Shaking his head, House took the cage and whispered some random words to the cat, then carefully hid it under the desk and left the room. Once back down in the clinic, he glared at the young doctor who had called him. The young man gulped nervously and quickly ran away, but when House approached the desk asking what they wanted from him, he didn't get the answer he feared.

He got a worse one.

"Dr. Cuddy saw you were here, she is looking for you," House froze and the nurse behind the desk saw him pale. "I think she just came up to your office."

To be a middle-aged cripple man, she had to admit he was quick in those circumstances. The last syllable was still in the air, when House took off and left. She thought he seemed quite eager to see their boss, and smiled to herself. She had always thought he had a thing for Dr. Cuddy, and she had to admit she didn't really like that Lucas guy...

What she couldn't know, was that House's main concern was actually not to meet his boss. Even more so, he didn't want her to find what he had brought along. Something in which, of course, he failed. Wasn't that, after all, the worst week of his life? House made it back to his office the fastest he could, but as the itchy sensation in the back of his neck intensified, he already knew such hurry was useless.

House stepped inside the office and saw Cuddy sitting behind his desk. The cage was on it too, and the small door was open. The cat was stretched out on the desk, rolled on her back. He could hear her purr from the door, lulled by Cuddy's hand roaming her soft body. Her eyes were closed, she clearly enjoyed the attention of the only person apart, from him, with whom she got along. That, for House, was beyond shocking, Especially as he remembered how she glared at Wilson all the time, and how she seemed to have a particular feeling with his friend's shoes to take care of her nails. For all he knew, that cat didn't get along well with humans. They were on good terms now, but they've had a rocky start; yet, she seemed to have immediately found a feeling with Cuddy.

Moreover, Cuddy herself looked glowing while staring mesmerized at the cat.

"What did she do?"

Her question came out of nowhere. House had to blink a couple of times to be sure she had spoken, and to be able to push down his throat the lump of tension he felt. Sighing, he stepped inside his office and dived his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes locked on the "girls".

"Whatever she does in her cage, it's her business."

He joked, trying to remember the last time he had done so with her, finding traces of the familiar sensation he used to feel when they bantered, tickling somewhere inside him when she answered back without missing a bit.

"You adopted a rat because he was sick," she said leaning back on the chair. The cat reacted immediately, nestling on her lap to get back the comfortable proximity. "You took care of Wilson's dog out of guilty, and last time you've been interested in an animal it was a killer cat."

"She wasn't," he stated sitting on the ottoman. "I proved it."

Silence came down in the room, the only sound coming from the cat purring like an engine.

"Since when do you have a cat?" Cuddy asked then sliding, her hands on the back of the cat.

"Not sure who has who to be honest," he muttered tapping his cane on the floor and staring down at the carpet.

"What's her name?"

_Oh God!_ He thought filling his lung with tension and trying to get rid of it with a long sigh. _What's with this questioning now?_

"She doesn't have one," he answered instead. They hadn't talked in such a long time, and he didn't want to ignore the sensation it still gave him, for better or for worse. "I think it's useless to name a cat. She's a free spirit, to give her a name would be like build her and identity she doesn't have."

"So you," Cuddy went on, trying not to show him how much his sad but deep words had touched her. "You had Steve because he was sick, Hector for guilt, Debbie for medical purpose and..." with her hands open she pointed at the cat on her lap "...why?"

"Because," House said, finally looking up at Cuddy, straight into her eyes. "I like her," he gulped down nervously, and dared. "She reminds me of someone."

"Then how do you call her?"

House huffed a smile out of his lips, then his eyes moved to the cat, simply staring at her. Even if she was giving her back to him, somehow the animal seemed to feel it, the silent and powerful call of her companion, because she rolled on her back and left Cuddy's lap. With a fluid movement, the cat jumped on the desk then down on the ground, a few steps and she was at his feet, looking up at him. Smiling, House moved from the ottoman to the long chair to leave room for her. However, after a quick stop on the ottoman, she moved to the chair sitting on his good thigh.

"Wow," Cuddy whispered leaning forward on the desk. "That's creepy."

"According to my shrink, not enough to worry," he joked, caressing the cat with slow movements. "Why are you here? It's Sunday, you should enjoy your happy family life-"

"There's no family life."

House's hand almost clenched around cat's small neck. Somehow he managed to keep his eyes on the animal, while inside his chest his heart was racing wild and fast. Despite his lack of reaction, or maybe exactly because of that, Cuddy kept her eyes on him, waiting for a feedback that didn't come. She wasn't surprised, but silence couldn't protect him. Cuddy had to go on, no matter what. Once she had found out House was there, she had gone to his office for a reason and she wasn't going to step back.

"I'm not marrying Lucas."

It was supposed to be good news, for him at least, still a sudden explosion of pain spread from his right leg through his body. He didn't know how he was supposed to react…of course, he couldn't say he was sad to hear that. But he had no idea why she was telling him that, and he realized all of sudden what the situation was. It was Sunday, she was not supposed to be there as much as him and still she was. Judging by her outfit, she had come there as if it was just another working day, not just to catch up on paperwork. And knowing he was there, she had come for him instead of avoiding him… How much time since the last time she had come up there, alone, not to discuss work stuff with him? And how could she know he knew about the rumours? How could she have the guts to address the topic, knowing how the news had affected him, to the point he had needed to go home-

"I guess he had a strange idea of romanticism," she huffed again, rolling the giant tennis ball on the desk. "He spread the news himself. He said it would have been nice to see everybody's reaction. Like…the main rehearsal, before the début."

House kept caressing the cat, trying not to listen to her words. He couldn't, since he had no idea what she was talking about, or where she was leading. There was a voice inside him, screaming in joy, but it was overcome by a biggest silent part that represented his confusion, and the caution in accepting that speech. He needed all the support he could, yet he found himself facing that alone when the cat's attention was drawn to the rolling item. She looked at it with deep curiosity for a while, then quickly stood up and ran away from him jumping back on the desk, patting the ball with her paws.

"He had fun with everybody's reaction," Cuddy went one smiling at the cat. "He enjoyed how they were all whispering behind my back. How they elbowed each other, the comments he heard. He had imagined everybody reaction… I guess he didn't expect mine."

Deprived of any distraction, House finally caved and looked up, trying to focus more on the cat and not on Cuddy. But he didn't fail to notice the smile on her face.

Thank God he did.

It wasn't a sad smile, it wasn't a bittersweet one, filled with regret and doubts. It was a true, genuine wide smile. Partly due the playful battle she had engaged with the cat, all right. It was the smile of a woman he used to know, someone he used to have a connection with. The smile of a woman who had woken up from a dream she thought it was good.

The smile of a woman who had realized that, sometimes, even when they come true, dreams don't always give you what you really want.

**THE END**


End file.
